


light a candle for hope, my love (faith is running low)

by vivilove



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Universe, Eve of battle, F/M, Goodbyes, Hopeful Ending, Jealousy, Jon's POV, Pining, Unresolved Romantic Tension, mentions of Sansa and Theon's time at Winterfell with Ramsay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 02:23:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18489331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/pseuds/vivilove
Summary: The Army of the Dead marches for Winterfell and on the eve of battle, Jon wants to tell her goodbye...and other things.





	light a candle for hope, my love (faith is running low)

**Author's Note:**

> This came to me in the shower this morning since I've been thinking about Theon returning to Winterfell :)

 

_Where could she be?_

He’s nearly angry for having wasted the time looking for her. Nearly.

It began as a maybe. Maybe I’ll see her…maybe we’ll talk. They’ve not had a single moment alone together to speak since they’ve both learned the truth.

There’s so many other things he should be focusing on with the enemy so close. The horns of the watchers may sound at any time. He has places to be, a people to reassure and also people to keep appeased.

But he can’t leave her without so much as a word this time.

When she rode south and he rode north, they were little more than wandering ghosts to each other. They might’ve occupied the same spaces occasionally, they might’ve crossed paths and spoken now and then. Those words were sometimes kind and sometimes biting but overall their bond had been the weakest of the young pack’s and he’d known it. She had known it, too.

Years later, when he rode south and she remained, they were no longer those wandering ghosts. They’d lost so much along the way back to each other. She’d not wanted him to go and he’d not wanted to leave. The anguish of going at such a dire time for their people was hard but the fear of her disappointment in him and his decision had rendered him a coward. With no proper goodbye, he’d looked back for what he knew might’ve been the final time he’d see her. Her image had burned itself into his brain, a torment that he’d meant to bear in silence till the day he died.

This evening though, on the eve of the great battle it seems he’s been preparing for half his life, he means to see her and say…something.

It’s Bran who tells him where to look and he climbs the stairs heavily, wondering whatever could’ve possessed her to come here of all places.

He hears her voice and then another’s, a man’s voice. The flash of jealous rage is instantaneous and he must breathe deep to calm it. He is better at masking his reactions than he once was and he has no right to the rage just as he has no right to anything of hers. Still, it takes him time to soothe the beast inside.

Of course, she’s with him. Since he returned, she’s been in his company as much as possible. She’d forged a bond with Theon since they were children together at Winterfell just as she’s formed one with him. Her and Theon’s bond was forged in misery and pain. He should not envy Theon their bond. And he’ll never forget what Theon did to save her.

He pauses on the stair, his masochistic heart greedy to hear what they might say to dash all his secret hopes and desires.

“Did you speak with Bran?”

“I did. It was…we spoke.”

She laughs. It’s not a full-bodied laugh but it’s a sound he’s sorely missed. “Bran is not the boy he was but he’s here, Theon. He’s with us.”

“I tried to apologize for all the things I did, all the horrible things I did but he said none of it mattered now so long as I was here to fight.”

“He’s right.”

They’re quiet then and he cannot help but peer around the corner. They’re standing by the window, the window where Bran fell. Theon is staring at something but he can’t see what it is.

“I think about what you asked of me and what I did. I think of the old woman and what he did. I think of all the ways I…”

His voice breaks and she’s shushing him, soothing him like a mother. _Or like a lover?_

“Don’t. I understand what he did to you and how hard it was to break away. You saved me in the end.”

“You saved me first, Sansa,” Theon argues and he realizes he is right. _You saved me, too,_ he wants to tell her.

They’re holding hands now and the bile is rising from his gullet. His fists clench on their own. He feels too much and he hates it. Emotion will overwhelm him if he stays here. He cannot stay. He’d wanted to say goodbye but he hadn’t expected this.

But before he can turn and leave without them knowing, a crow flaps down from the rafters above him, cawing loudly and announcing his presence. King Crow.

They look startled for just a moment and then she’s smiling at him and dropping Theon’s hand to walk towards him.

“I should go find my place. I’ll see you after,” Theon says to them both as he passes to head down the stairs.

“You should be heading to the crypts soon,” he tells her once they are alone. He grimaces at himself. He’s trying to protect her again but her reply is expected.

“I will be heading for the battlements soon to lend what support I can to the castle’s defenders.”

She says it so stubbornly and he cannot help but smile. “Their morale and courage will be bolstered by their lady’s presence, I know.” She smiles back and he’s glad to have said something right.

He’s found her and this is his chance to say goodbye but he cannot seem to say it. He doesn’t want to say it. There’s other things he wants to say as well but he cannot seem to say them either.

Nervous, he looks around. He spies a lone candle in its holder on the window’s ledge. Was this what Theon was looking at?

“What’s this doing here?”

“Something that was placed there many, many moons ago in a desperate time. ‘Light a candle in the Broken Tower. Help will come,’” she says. “That’s what I was told.”

Her voice is eerily calm and heartbroken at the same time and it makes him shiver as the meaning hits him. The wick is blackened and it has burned very low, practically down to nothing. The pieces all fall into place as he recalls her conversation with Theon; a candle burning in the tower in a desperate time.

“Theon did not light it.”

“No, I did.”

Of course, she did. Sansa wasn’t afraid to save herself if she could.

“No one came,” he says, remembering how they’d escaped.

“There was no time…but no. No one came. Brienne was out there though and if not for her…”

“But no one came here to save you.”

“No one ever comes.”

The trace of bitterness in her voice is not imagined. It pierces his heart like no arrow ever could.

“You lit it anyway.”

She smiles and it’s almost shy now, almost reminiscent of that girl he knew, the wandering ghost of his boyhood.

“I lit it. I could not give up hope altogether.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” And he loves her for it. He loves her for so many things but he loves her for her faith and hope that none of those monsters managed to rob her of completely.

The silence stretches on and there’s so much he wants to say and he still can’t say a thing. _After_ , he tells himself. _After the fight, if we’re not all dead…I’ll say it then._

“I need to go make ready.”

Is that his voice that has dropped so low? Does he imagine that heated look in her eyes? Or is that simply a reflection of his own?

“Be safe,” she says, her own voice soft and loving as she moves to embrace him.

He returns her embrace with a desperation that might unman him if he lets it. He cannot help it. He does not want to let go of her.

As they linger in that embrace though, a horn sounds in the distance. Three blasts and the castle comes alive with shouts and cries in response. The time has come. The war is here.

“Sansa?” he asks as they part, ashamed of his trembling which she does not remark on.

“Yes, Jon?”

“Light the candle again tonight.”

 


End file.
